The Friends We Keep(36)

Larry stayed over, and in the morning Topher was woken up by the sound of Larry laughing, his head appearing over the wall of pillows Topher had erected once Larry was asleep.

“What the hell is this?” Larry said, tossing each pillow, one by one, across the room. “How did the Great Wall of Pillows appear once I was sleeping?”

“I’m sorry.” Topher was embarrassed. “I don’t like to be touched when I’m not expecting it.”

“You didn’t seem to mind last night.” Larry grinned over the one remaining pillow.

“I definitely didn’t mind last night.” Topher’s stomach lurched as he flashed back to Larry’s face above him, dipping down to lick his ear. “Maybe it’s a sleeping thing,” he lied. “I’m weird about suddenly finding an arm or a leg touching me while I’m asleep.”

“Noted.” Larry flung the last pillow to the end of the bed. “I’m not in a rush. I like you.”

“I like you too.” Topher felt a flush of pleasure.

“I mean I really like you. I want to take this slow. I’m in no rush. If you don’t want to be touched unexpectedly, I won’t touch you. We don’t need to erect the Great Wall of Pillows every night.”

Every night? Topher couldn’t stop smiling as he exhaled in relief at finally finding someone who seemed to understand him so well.





eighteen


- 1994 -



It was Maggie’s first day at her new job, and she had no idea what to wear. She had worked in corporate PR where black was the order of the day, but she was certain that her boring little black suits wouldn’t be chic enough for Les Jolies, the French cosmetics company she would now be working for. She was leaving corporate PR for consumer PR, and not for just anyone, but for one of the biggest cosmetic companies in the world. For the first time she would be exposed to the magazine industry, and the glamorous beauty editors who worked there.

She was terrified of getting it wrong. Fashion had never been her thing. The black suits she was able to get away with for years had been an enormous relief—like wearing a school uniform (which she had also loved). She had never needed to think about it—a black suit, a collared shirt, and sensible low heels.

A tour of her new office after she had accepted the job showed how wrong that would be in this world. It was like the cast of Friends had met the catwalk. Maggie’s heart sank when she realized how she would have to start dressing.

Since then she had hit Joseph (for the expensive stuff) and Miss Selfridge (for the non-), and her work wardrobe now consisted of some jewel-tone crushed velvet bootleg pantsuits, with a few strappy dresses to be worn over silk T-shirts.

For her first day she had decided on a burgundy velvet suit with a black strappy camisole underneath (no one would ever see it was a camisole, for Maggie was determined never to remove the jacket, no matter how hot it got), and a black velvet choker. Her hair had been newly cut into choppy layers à la the “Rachel.” This morning she had styled it just like Rachel on Friends, hoping that she could scrape it back in her usual bun by the end of the week.

She felt both glamorous and like something of a fraud. She’d even bought a burgundy lipstick to match the suit, and every time she caught a glimpse of herself in the darkened window of the tube, she thought she looked like a clown.

She was wrong. Within twenty minutes of walking into the office, five people had come up to her and complimented her on the suit, asking where she got it from.

“Your desk is here,” said Linda, her boss, who marched through the office at a rate of knots, despite her four-inch heels. She led her to a small cubby with a blank wall facing her. All around, her fellow executives had decorated their cubbies. Their own walls were sophisticated and glamorous, covered with photographs of models, shots of beauty products, and inspirational messages. Maggie spotted Evvie on four different walls, and smiled to herself. This was clearly a sign that she was in the right place.

“I’m throwing you in at the deep end a bit.” Linda handed Maggie a stuffed file with a laugh. “It’s sink or swim here, I’m afraid. We’ve just announced a partnership with Swerdling, the pharmaceutical company. They’ve developed a revolutionary skin cream that actually stimulates the collagen in your own skin to not just make you look younger but actually reverse the aging process. We’ve been working on a new campaign to launch this, so I want you to familiarize yourself with it. Once you’ve read it, you can type up your own ideas to add to the campaign.” She paused, seeing Maggie freeze. “Don’t worry,” she said. “No pressure. Just if you think of anything we haven’t already covered. Let me have your notes by the end of the day.”

By lunchtime, Maggie’s head felt ready to explode. She had read through half the notes, keeping a notebook by her side, constantly stopping to scribble down ideas. The revolutionary ingredient was derived from fish, and it was scented with French lavender. There was a historic hotel just outside of Grasse, near Maggie’s parents’ home in the South of France, that had fields of lavender that were harvested for the perfumers in Grasse. Maggie had already phoned them and, in her immaculate French, negotiated a heavily discounted rate for the press trip she was going to propose to Linda.

She had written down Evvie as the face of the product, delighted that she had an inside track, hoping it might score her brownie points on her first day. And, thanks to her corporate PR background, she realized that scientific journals were the one item nobody had thought about. She had researched the journals, including those published in America, Australia, and throughout the major markets in Europe, proposing profiles on the scientists who had developed the ingredient.